Saturday, April 29, 2017

The right piece for their perfect triad seems to be the one
man who doesn’t seem to fit at all.

Eli and Silas have done pretty much everything twins
can do together within reason. They share lovers and are inseparable. Now, the
lions want free. They want someone to be with both of them and can understand
the dual sides to their collective nature. But the twins are scarred by their past.
Eli uses his people skills to please and get by, while Silas takes the quieter,
introverted and angry approach. Can these two find a perfect complement? Does
that person even exist?

Owen Cantrell believes he’s not only worthy of the shifters,
but he’s their missing piece. He’s human and hasn’t been around shifters, but
he’s not afraid. What could go wrong?

When these three get together, there are plenty of sparks,
but things can’t be perfect forever. The way Eli, Silas and Owen deal with
their problems and everything thrown their way will prove if they aren’t meant
to be or if they can go the distance.

Note:Merging
Their Roaris part of the
Sanctuary series. Each book features different characters and can be enjoyed as
a standalone story.

“We’d like
you to live here. Teach the shifters about being human—like manners,
technology, how to exist outside of the Sanctuary, along with how to spot a
group like Wet Dreams and how to run away. I think you’re what we need.”

Markas
leaned his elbows on the desk. “What do you think?”

None of what he’d been told was
what he’d expected. They trusted him? Despite what he’d admitted and the very
real possibility he’d truly try to fuck a shifter. He doubted Markas was
telling the truth.

“You’ve been through a lot in
your short life. I can’t imagine coming out. I was lucky. After I shifted, John
accepted me. Our family of shifters is accepted here and I’d like them to be
accepted in public, too.”

Owen nodded. He wasn’t the most
socially savvy person, but he was willing to help. “What do you want me to do
and when?”

“You’re welcome to move in as
soon as you’d like. We’ve got plenty of room. Once you’re settled, I want you
to choose a few shifters to work with. They’ll be your responsibility, but I’m
sure they’ll all want you to pick them,” Markas said.

“Like one or two?”

“I’d say start with one. Don’t
overwhelm yourself.”

“Then…okay.” He had to think
this through. Too bad, he really wanted to accept and his mouth wasn’t working
with his brain. “I’m game, but I need to get out of my lease.”

“Done.”

“What?”

Owen supposed Markas meant he’d
help until the lease was up.

“Trust me.” Markas stood. “Let
me introduce you around.” He rounded the desk. When Owen stood, Markas stopped.
“But remember, we’re all watching you. If you lie or sell us out…I’ll know. If
you think you’re a good double agent, you’re not. If you double cross any of
us, I’ll unleash my lion on your ass. I’m not afraid, and my lion gives no
fucks.”

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Sometime I struggle with a project, and I get frustrated
with myself. In the beginning my work is, shall we say, less than
stellar. Often I'll use a word more than once in the same paragraph, and punctuation is deplorable. I’m constantly
going back to rethink something. For example, I had the hero pointing a sword
at the heroine. and he's supposed to throw her on his
horse as they were being ambushed.

OK that truly doesn’t work. What is he
supposed to do with that sword? Just stupid stuff like that. But then I realize if I weren’t going back and looking at
these problems, the reader would be totally confused, and ask themselves “what was the author thinking?” If I didn’t
go over it again and again, it would be a sign that I’m not at all concerned
about the reader. I’m just putting words and ideas on a page, and assume they’ll
figure it out.

As a good writer we question ourselves constantly. That’s a
good thing. Even when I’m finished with a manuscript, and have sent it in, I’m still not so confident that I did a good job. Then after it's been out for a while,
I go back to it, and read some excerpts, and say, “damn that’s good. Did I
really think of that?” You fall in love with the story all over again, and you’re
reminded of the fact that you are a good writer. If you did something without real consideration, it‘s proof that you don’t like your job. And face it, we love our job.
We love to write.

This why reviews are so important. They validate our hard
work, and it keeps us from saying “I suck.” Don’t be afraid to ask for those
reviews. Give away free books to other authors. They know how important a
review is. Then there’s your friends,
and family. Those
stars matter. You’re a good writer. Flaunt it.

Victoria Craven was born to tell
stories. Throughout her childhood she was a daydreamer. Growing up she told the
most outrageous tales to her friends that got her in trouble now and then. She
escaped the mundane to live in her fantasies: She was a mermaid, a princess, a
spy, and an explorer trekking across the tundra in Antarctica. Even as an adult
she saved just a little part of herself to drift into her dream world.

Then one day she said to herself “I’m going to write a
book,” and that’s what she did. She had no idea what it took to be a writer,
thinking all you had to do was add some words and ideas to a page and ‘poof,’ a
book, and every word was golden. What a rude awakening when her writer friends took
her into the light and showed her just how much she had to learn. That process
is still going on today!

Victoria has published the first two books in a historical
paranormal series with the third one coming out in 2017.

Currently, she resides in the Grand Rapids, Michigan area
with her wonderful husband who spoils her rotten. And from time to time is her critique
buddy. She is the mother of three
beautiful daughters, and grandmother to four wonderful grandchildren.

When she isn’t writing, she doting on her grandchildren, or
curled up on the couch with her husband, or having a sleepover with her best
friends.

And she still saves just a little bit of her life for those
daydreams.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Some readers think paranormal authors are hunched down by candlelight under the eaves in a dark garret while lightning flashes and thunder ominously growls, Poe's raven peering over their shoulder at the furiously scribbled prose, quothing, "A little more! Go for a vein!"

Writers write wherever they can find the time, space and energy, be that garret or grocery line. Inspiration isn't picky where it strikes, and like lightning, is swift and unpredictable. We plant those seeking rods at our comfy desks in hopes of drawing that sizzle during the allotted hours (or minutes!), but more often than not, it lights up the imagination in the most inconvenient places. In the car on the way to work. In the middle of a manicure. Watching baseball practice. Waiting for your fast food order. That flash, if not quickly seized, just as quickly fades and is gone. And even as I repeat a phenomenal line of dialog over and over as I pull in the parking lot to hold onto it, by the time I find my keys, unlock two sets of doors, find the lights and a notepad on my desk, what I have is a ghost of what I envisioned at the stoplight.

Authors need to steal their mantra from the Scouts: Be Prepared! Learn to use the recording app on your cell phone and have it assessable in the car on drives long and short (Use them at the stoplight, not while changing lanes, please!) to capture those pithy quotes. Carry a small notebook in your bag to jot gems of plot while in the wild. Consider a light weight tablet to capitalize on any available barista table or bleacher knee. The bottom of my purse is littered with Post-It notes (my drug of choice) to memorialize that clever twist of tormented backstory needed in Chapter Twelve.

There's no such thing as a non-writing trip (or moment). Who knows when those electrifying mental images will strike. I never leave on an overnight without my trusty HP and power cord . . . just in case my characters decide they have to have sex in my hotel room. And I have a lighted keyboard just in case they prefer to do it in the dark.

A missed opportunity is rarely recaptured with its original vim and vigor. Be prepared. Be vigilant. Keep an eye on the sky and have that lightning rod at ready. Here are some places my computer and I have found ourselves working in a few paragraphs:

​

On a cruise ship balcony in the dark watching the sun come up by the light of my monitor and keyboard while my fellow travelers were still sleeping . . .

Finishing a chapter during a power outage trying to type fast enough to outlast fading battery...

Stretched out on the floor on the Miami airport . . .

On the train . . .

E-mailing chapters of work done over the lunch hour to my home computer . . .

Over breakfast at the Cubs Bar in O'Hare during a four hour flight layover (see above) . . .

Watching the dessert come to life at sun rise in Tucson (I seem to always be getting up earlier than the sun!) . . .

Sneaking out of a workshop to tuck away in a game room with one heck of a view . . .

Where's the most unusual place you've had that "Ah Hah!" moment strike and how did you capture it?

Nancy Gideon is the author of over 55 novels ranging from Regencies, historicals and contemporary suspense to dark paranormal romance, with a couple of horror screenplays thrown into the mix. When not at the keyboard or working full time as a legal assistant in Southwest Michigan, she can be found feeding her addictions for Netflix and all things fur, feather and fin, enjoying Grammy time (usually watchingThe Avengers), and meeting new friends and readers through her GoodReads “Nancy Gideon by Moonlight” group. Her books can also be found under the pen names Dana Ransom, Rosalyn West and Lauren Giddings.

Monday, April 24, 2017

I’m a
plotter. I’ve tried to just sit down in
front of the computer and write whatever comes to mind, but I usually find
myself staring at a blinking curser or writing scenes that I have to cut later
because they don’t really move my story forward. I need a road map to lead me
to the happy ending of my novel. Since I
write paranormal romance, I have to create the world I’m traveling in as well
as all the details on the map before I can take my first step. This has actually become one of my favorite parts
of the writing process, taking the kernel of an idea, planting it and watching
it grow with a series of ‘what if’ questions until I have the universe in which
my story takes place.

World
building is a very detailed process. An
author must know a lot more about the story and the world it plays in than the
reader will ever see on the page. An
example of a true master of world building was the author J.R.R. Tolkien. In the final book of THE LORD OF THE RINGS
there are six appendix sections containing family trees, histories, short
stories, an explanation of calendars in the Shire, a timeline and a section on
languages of the various inhabitants of the Middle Earth complete with
alphabets and grammatical rules. All of
this detail made his stories feel more like history than fiction.

My current
work in progress is my first venture into a new genre. Futuristic romance. The first book will be out this fall. There is a lot of world building necessary
for this series. I’ve had to create home
worlds for the various species along with their governmental structure,
politics, myths, legends, customs, religions, technology, as well as the
physical appearance of the planet and its inhabitants. With all this structure in place it is no
possible to create the outline or road map my human characters will be
following as they enter into this new and strange galaxy. If I have done all of my world building
correctly it will be a fun and interesting experience for my readers.

The Bloom of a Rose

Rachel Bartlett doesn’t expect to meet the man of her dreams
at a funeral. But a chance conversation
with Paul Miller inserts her in a political game between good and evil. Her political strategist mother has other
plans for her, and they don’t include romance.
Paul is the wrong guy for her, but sometimes it takes someone from the
opposition to show you the way out of the maze.

Paul Miller is fighting battles on multiple fronts, and he
doesn’t have time for an infatuation with a pretty graphic artist, no matter
how blue her eyes or how sharp her wit.
If his trust is misplaced, then a betrayal can cost him the game.

What the couple doesn’t know is that they are not
alone. Supernatural beings battle behind
the scenes—and humans are all pawns on a chessboard. The outcome of the game will determine not
only what the future might be. . . but whether there even is one.

Excerpt:

Paul
reached for the sweet and sour chicken trying not to let his hand shake. “Did you come to a decision?”

She
set down her fork and stared at her plate. “No.”

He
let out his breath and his chest relaxed a bit.
“Are you leaning one way or the other?”

She
looked up and he could see the tears sparkling in her eyes. He set down his food, reached out and
gathered her in his arms. She leaned
against his chest and he could feel the moisture of her tears dampen his
shirt.

“It’s
all right. I’m here, I can help you.”

She
wrapped her arms around his waist and cried.

After
a while she let go and straightened up.
He handed her a dinner napkin and she wiped her eyes and nose then took
a deep breath.

“It’s
cheaper for me to go back to school.
There are some low rent apartments available not too far from a bus
route that will go right past the school.
The school has a list of places willing to hire students. I can also apply for some of the art
scholarships provided by some of the school’s patrons. Because of the time I’ve lost since I came to
Boise, it will take me a year and a half to two years to finish my
studies.” She ran the napkin over her face
again.

“If
I take the online option, it will take two to two and a half years to
finish. It is more expensive to live
here and I will have trouble finding a good job because of my mother.” She sniffed and used the napkin again.

Augustina Van Hoven was born in The Netherlands and
currently resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, two dogs and three
cats. She is an avid reader of romance,
science fiction and fantasy. When she’s
not writing she likes to work in her garden or in the winter months crochet and
knit on her knitting machines.

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction.
For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com

Sunday, April 23, 2017

They say that mystics transcend human knowledge into the mysteries surrounding life and death. Their intuitions are keenly honed to a fine edge, upon the unseen stone of the spiritual and ghostly energies surrounding us all.

I am a mystic. This is my tale of love found in the lonely shadows of desperation.

Once beautiful of face and figure, stopping hearts and conversations with my appearance at the Mad King's side, I have since marked many score of years. Now, my sallow flesh hangs in rippling folds around my face and sags like limp flags under my arms. My legs have thickened and dimpled as if filled with blood pudding and my lustrous hair, turned ashy gray and dry as autumn leaves.

This destruction of my mortal beauty has taken many long years, but taken me it has!

My place at the side of the Mad King, ended with his own mortality asserting itself one gloomy winter's night as we lay abed, among his furs and silks. I stayed on at Court, fulfilling my role as Reader of Omens and Celestial Signs, Mystic to the King's Court.

I was not particularly bereft of the Mad King's company; Kings can be rather dull when they remove their crown and robes of power. Besides, the transition of kingship was as smooth as the flow of a quiet river this time; not the turbulent rush to power of a flooding brown Nile of the last!

The fact that time had begun to trample across my visage, a shorter journey than could be imagined, and was pulling on my beautiful body like a crazed sculptor, took none, but myself, by surprise.

It only dawned upon my knowing that I was no longer the ardent beauty at Court, when the Young King passed over me as his boon companion and lover early in his reign.

I had preened like a peacock, my body soaked in perfumed oils as if I was being mummified. My straw-like tresses were treated to henna and captured the glint of sunlight when I was presented to the Young King.

He recognized my station as Mystic and Seer to the King, but nodding curtly in my direction, moved forward leaving me to wallow in the wake of his passing.

Rather than fall into the trap of other women, believing themselves immune to the ravages of time, I returned to my rooms and plotted, as any wise Mystic would.

My powers were untouched, in fact, quite enhanced over my many years. I began to study more than the stars; now I studied the dark arts.

I would harpoon the handsome Young King's affections, and haul him to me like a Behemoth of the great seas.

He would become enamored of me, seeing me as beautiful and sexually desirable; an easy feat for me, or so I believed.

I set my ritual in play and brought the darkest forces to bear.

After a long period, I returned to Court to present myself to the virile Young King, I found all facing his ivory throne, arranged like a human Stonehenge at the foot of the dais.

Approaching, I knew in my heart my incantations and dark powers had prevailed. The Young King would see me as the beauty I was once, as I had given him the eyes of the Mad King, his father.

But like all in life's planning and cunning ploys, one must keep in mind the many factors impressing themselves upon our choices. For instance; time is using all of us like balls in a game of croquet, there are no exceptions.

As I came closer to the rigid crowd of Courtiers, I heard soft mumblings and sharp intake of breath. I believed that perhaps my magic had affected all who saw me now. I was once more the reigning beauty among them. A path was made open for me and I nodded from side to side, as I passed through what I saw as my admiring fellows. They too were clearly beguiled.

When I turned my eyes at last to where my conquest was seated, I saw the Young king was as shriveled as last winter's apples. His skin was yellow and scored with deep furrows. His body sagged and smelled of old urine. He was not only old, he was now ancient!

His eyes, like his dead father's, were rheumy and red rimmed, yet he saw me clearly.

"Ah!" he said with a leer twisting his blueish lips. "Ah, here at last is my love!"

From the east coast, moved to mid-west where I've made my home for over 30 years. I proudly claim my Italian heritage while writing books about an Irish Wizard. Go figure! I started with Nancy Drew and moved quickly into Edgar Allen Poe. Loving mysteries is part of my DNA. Words are the bridges we use everyday, to cross over to understanding this world and I want to keep making those passages over into what I see as a fuller life.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

It was totally quiet inside the
truck as Semris regained consciousness.

Where am
I? Why am I in this cage?

Abruptly,
he remembered--the camp, the strange, gray beast, and the strangers, one of
them with the odd war club that spat poisoned darts--and he was certain the
dart had been poisoned, else why would he have lost his soul to darkness so
quickly?

He was
groggy and disoriented. His face hurt
where the stranger had struck him with the club. He could feel movement, but knew he was lying
inside a small cramped space. How can
I be moving when I'm lying down?

He couldn’t
stand upright, was barely able to get to his knees. Because of the net entrapping them, he wasn't
even able to retract his wings to give himself more room.

Slowly, he
turned his head. In the shadows, he saw
a seated, sleeping figure holding the war club.
One of the men who had thrown the net over him, the tall one with the
hair holding the color of the noonday sun.
Was this some child of Ah Kinchil, come at last to punish Nikte-Uaxac
for abandoning its worship of the Sun to follow the Children of Cizin-Yum
Cimil-Ah Puch? Did they plan to kill
him and thus send the city into chaos?

That is Tucker Upchurch's introduction to Semris, Emperor of
Nikte Uaxac, a still-existing Mayan city in the Yucatan jungle. Before the story is over, Tuck will find both
his life and Semris' changed forever.

Dark God Descending is tentatively considered a
vampire story but it's one, I hope, with an enjoyable twist. It's also a story of friendship--between two
men, separated by thousands of years:
Tucker Upchurch, an archaeology student from the University of Georgia,
and Semris, a Mayan god-king who is several thousand years old.

Tuck and Semris meet when the student accompanies his
professor to Yucatan, on the trail of an ancient bat god. Instead of finding a stone statue, however,
they find a living being in an extant Mayan city in the middle of the jungle,
and as usual when modern civilisation intrudes into the past, disaster
results. Tuck's professor is without
scruples if it will enhance his own reputation, and this is an opportunity he
can't turn down. He and his men steal
the city's most prize possession—its Emperor, Semris.

Drugged and caged, Semris is guarded by Tuck who soon develops
an emotional bond with his captive charge.
The two men communicate through an archaic form of Spanish, and Tuck
learns that Semris is the son of Yum Cimil, the Mayan god of death, and is, in
the eyes of the civilised world, a vampire.
Tuck gives his blood to keep his friend alive, and when the opportunity
arises, he helps the emperor-god escape.

Before he manages to once again return to the city in the
jungle, Semris will learn of human love and human sacrifice, and will suffer an
all too-human grief. Tuck will lose the
one person he's loved all his life but will gain something more precious in
Semris' friendship, and be blessed with near-immortality. Everyone they touch on the journey back to
Yucatan will be changed forever…and the punishment to the villain is both
fitting as well as ironic.

Damn, I write a good story!

Blurb:

Two
men…separated by thousands of years, cultures, and customs…and in love with the
same woman…

All
grad student James Tucker Upchurch wanted was to earn summer credit on an archaeological
dig to Central America…and to marry his fiancée, Shannon. All Semris
wanted was to escape the monotony of a millennia-old life, and the burdens
being a demon king, and the son of the Mayan God of Death, have placed upon
him.

For
five thousand years, the misplaced Dark Lords of Hell have
been trapped in this world, ruling the Mayan city of
Nikte-Uaxac. While elsewhere civilizations rise and fall, they and
their subjects remain unchanged, until Twenty-first Century intruders appear,
stealing from them their most precious possession, the Emperor himself…

Tuck
never expected to lose his girl to a demon nor to be given immortality, and
Semris never thought he’d experience mortal love, but when the current world
meets a more ancient one, everything and everyone they know will be
changed. Forever.

Excerpt:

Tuck walked
over to the cage.

Oh, God, did
that last shot kill him? As far as he could tell, Semris hadn’t moved.

When he saw
the slow rise and fall of the bare chest, he felt abrupt relief. He also saw
the golden amulet, recognizing it as the twin of the one that had started all
this unpleasantness in the first place.

The fruit
hadn’t been touched, was rapidly darkening, the sweet, overripe smell
permeating the cellar, attracting flies. How the
Hell did they get in here, anyway?Several big bluebottles
were buzzing around inside the cell, hovering over the peaches, a couple
crawling along the edges of the plate. One was floating in the water glass,
wings fluttering and making little splashes.

Tuck knelt and
opened the little flap, reaching inside to remove the glass. As he reached back
in for the plate, it happened. so fast he didn’t even realize Semris had moved
until he felt the iron grip upon his wrist, saw the fangs drop and the dark
head covering his hand.

He screamed as
twin razor slashes struck through his wrist...knowing no one could hear,
struggled desperately to get away. Frantic, disbelieving thoughts whirling
through his mind. Oh, God, this is why he didn’t eat the
fruit. He’s a vampire! Sweet Jesus, he’s going to kill me! Help
someone, help me! Why should they? I didn’t help him.

The pain went
away, his arm numb from wrist to fingertips.

He knelt there
on the floor, watching the pale body crouched so near he could have reached out
and touched his shoulder...his bare, wingless shoulder.Where
did his wings go? What happened to them? All he could do was
watch those shoulders heave with the strength of each deep swallow, feeling his
life ebb away, and a vague surprise that it didn’t hurt at all.

Eyes rolling
up, Tuck gave a little sigh and collapsed against the bars. He was barely
conscious as he saw Semris raise his head and release his arm. In spite of
being only slightly aware, he felt a stab of surprise as the quiet voice
whispered, “Gracias. Gracias por su sangre.”

He’s thanking
me? Thanking me for letting him kill me? With an effort, he made himself
withdraw his wounded arm, cradling it against his chest with his other hand.
Forcing his eyes open, he stared at his wrist, fighting the wave of blackness
floating before his eyes.

There was no
bloody ripped-away flesh as he’d imagined, only four deep punctures. Two of the
five little veins had been pierced, but the wounds were clean and already
clotting. Tuck forced himself to take a deep breath, then let it out, and
repeated the procedure. Keep breathing! Don’t pass out. He
might decide to have a second helping.

“I took too
much. I am sorry. I was too hungry.”

There was such
concern in Semris’ voice that Tuck found himself replying, “That’s all right.
I-if I’d known, I… Oh, God, what am I saying?” He fell silent,
feeling a bout of hysteria galloping toward him.

Something was
thrust into his hand. One of the peaches. Semris’ hand, between the bars,
holding it out to him. “Aqui. Come. Pronto.”

So he took the
peach and bit into it, choking slightly as the rich, sweet juice slid down his
throat, but forced himself to keep chewing and swallowing. As the fruit sugar
hit his stomach, he began to feel better.

“That was
good.” With a sigh, he tossed the peach pit aside.

Through the bars, hands helped him to his feet. He
leaned against the door, hanging onto it to keep his balance as dizziness
flooded back.

“Again,
I am sorry. He looked up, meeting Semris’ eyes, startled at the concern in
them. “It has been so long since I have had the living wine.”

Living
wine…what a beautiful way to describe it. Tuck still
felt a little groggy, wondered if he was now under the vampire thrall. He
decided to find out. “Am I your minion now?”

“Why would you
think that?” Semris sounded genuinely puzzled.

“Well, you’ve
taken my blood. Generally, when a vampire--”

“Vampiro! Donde?”
Semris looked around quickly, arms crossing over his throat in a protective
gesture.

“You.” Tuck
answered, feeling he’d made a mistake. “Aren’t you a vampire?”

Tuck realized he must be feeling
better, to be able to marvel at the absurdity of this conversation.

Tony-Paul de Vissage

A writer of French Huguenot extraction, one of Tony-Paul de Vissage's
first movie memories is of being six years old, viewing the old Universal
horror flick, Dracula's Daughter on television, and being scared
sleepless—and he’s now paying back his very permissive parents by writing about
the Undead.

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction.
For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com

Friday, April 21, 2017

That’s one of the most
common questions posed to writers and, for me, one of the most difficult to
answer in a way that will make sense to the questioner. Like most writers I know, I always have
ideas. It’s hard to put myself in the shoes of someone who needs to ask that
question.

I generally say something
like, “I see a story on the news or hear about something or someone interesting
and ask myself what if….” But that’s only part of it. I think everything we experience has the
potential to bubble up later as an idea.
It’s as though all our memories are jumbled in a big box that generates
ideas when the right what if comes
along.

I set my Light Mage Wars contemporary
paranormal romances in south Georgia near the Okefenokee Swamp because of a
trip my family took when I was about seven.
We used to go to Florida every year to visit relatives, and my parents
stopped at the Okefenokee on our way back to North Carolina one summer. I remember almost nothing about that trip
except the swamp’s name and the fact that we didn’t take a boat ride because my
mom was afraid a snake would fall out of a tree into the boat.

Yet that memory surfaced
years later, when I was trying to form the Light Mages’ world. I’m a native Southerner, so I wanted to set
the series in the South, but I didn’t want to use Atlanta. I mentioned that trip to my brainstorming
group, and one woman said, “Energy is different in a swamp.” And we were off to the races with lots of
ways I could use that.

There isn’t much of the
swamp in my first book, Renegade,
because I wasn’t able to go there and, dependent on the internet for research,
was afraid I might make a mistake out of ignorance. After the book sold, though, my husband and
our son and I visited the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge. I remember saying as we drove into the
refuge, “I hope this is as cool as I think it is because I’m stuck with it
now.”

It was truly amazing--wild,
beautiful, and completely different from anything I’d ever seen before. The Okefenokee is really a blackwater peat
blog, not a swamp, and when the water is still, it’s perfectly reflective. The place is magical. Not to mention spooky
at night. With one exception, Sentinel, I’ve
used it more as the series progressed and I was able to go there more often.

Will Davis, the hero of the
latest book in the series, Warrior, is
a good example of how things bubble up and blend. I’m a geek, having grown up loving fairy
tales and comic books and history. When
I was very young, I was interested in archaeology--until I found out about the
whole digging up bones thing. At age nine, I wasn’t keen on that, so I
shifted to other things. But I’m still
interested in archaeology. My husband
and I watch a lot of TV programs about it.

So Will is an archaeologist
and a geek. He has two Ph.Ds., one in history
and one in archaeology, and he’s into comics, science fiction, fantasy, and
gaming. But he’s also into martial arts
and can more than hold his own in a fight. Unfortunately, Will doesn’t trust
women. They never like him for the right
reason, he figures, so he’s into serial monogamous dating with no plans to ever
change that.

Since I was writing a
romance about him, though, I had to change that. I needed a woman he couldn’t avoid and would
never see coming as a threat to his independence. I came up with Audra Grayson, an
archaeologist who was excavating an island in the Okefenokee and was finding
Bronze Age European artifacts--an idea that bubbled up from long ago, when I
heard that the Americas didn’t have a Bronze Age in the European sense because
Native Americans did not smelt metal.

Will is assigned as a
consulting archaeologist to figure out what’s going on with this project and
its weird finds. He’s attracted to
Audra, but she’s not the bright, flirty type he favors. Meanwhile, Audra has no interest in a guy she
sees as a player, no matter how attracted they are to each other. She’s more interested in saving her
career. If the artifacts she’s finding
are fraudulent, no one will ever believe she didn’t plant them.

The site of her excavation
was inspired by one of my research trips to the swamp, to a place called
Billy’s Island. It has a Native American
burial mound on it, one of seventy-some known to be in the Okefenokee. So that seemed a perfect place to have Audra
dig, investigating the legend of an advanced civilization deep in the swamp,
something that snagged my interest when I was reading the journal of a man who
surveyed the Okefenokee. That legend is
going to pop up through the series because I knew when I read it that this was
something my world could use.

With ghouls and possibly a
demon from the Void between worlds taking an interest in the excavation, Will
and Audra have a fight on their hands, and danger has a way of influencing
people’s perceptions.

When I look at the way my
books have developed, I see a blend of inspiration from the past and new
ideas. All of it came out of that
imaginary box, and it was fun to mix the two.

Archaeologist Audra Grayson hopes this dig will save her career. But
that hope is dashed when she finds strange relics and a brilliant, sexy
consultant comes to investigate her for fraud. Worse, the evil shadow that has
haunted her for years is growing stronger.

A Mage Sworn to Oppose It At All Costs

Will Davis senses the darkness in Audra. Worried she’s allied with the
enemy, he vows to ignore his attraction to her. Then deadly ghouls target the
dig, seeking the ancient relics to open a portal for demons. If they succeed,
everything on Earth is doomed.

The
Fate Of The World At Stake

With ghoul attacks escalating, time is running out for Will to stop the
portal from opening. The chemistry between him and Audra threatens to combust,
but the darkness within her may give the enemy its chance. Will he be forced to
choose between the fate of the world and the woman he loves?

Nancy Northcott’s childhood ambition was to grow up and
become Wonder Woman. Around fourth
grade, she realized it was too late to acquire Amazon genes, but she still
loved comic books, science fiction, fantasy and YA romance. A sucker for fast action and wrenching
emotion, Nancy combines the magic, romance and high stakes she loves in the
books she writes.

Her debut novel, Renegade,
received a starred review from Library
Journal. The reviewer called it
“genre fiction at its best.” Nancy is a
three-time RWA Golden Heart finalist and has won the Maggie, the Molly, the
Emerald City Opener, and Put Your Heart in a Book.

Married since 1987, Nancy and her husband have one son, a
bossy dog, and a house full of books.

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction.
For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com

Thursday, April 20, 2017

I think if you ask any paranormal romance reader or writer, they'll give you a different list of what the key elements of a good paranormal romance might be. Or, at the very least, you'd get a different emphasis on what's important. I can only tell you what I look for as a reader and try to write into my own paranormal romance books:

1. Romance is the KeyI'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about the heroine and hero must fall in love and have their relationship develop over the course of the book in a way that makes it a primary story line.

2. Kick Ass HeroineThis is a personal preference. I'm not a huge fan of wimpy heroines who can't make a decision, and need the hero to save them or protect them. I do like the "development" plots where the heroine discovers her strength over the course of the book. As long as she's kick ass by the end.

3. Alpha Male HeroThe hero has to be as kick ass as the heroine, otherwise it's not a balanced romance. This doesn't mean he's an alpha-hole jerk or super bossy--though that can happen as long as the heroine is the catalyst for change in him. It doesn't mean he's the head honcho even, or supernatural himself. But it does mean he can hold his own with her, has specific values, is trustworthy, is protective, and so forth. And, most of all, he loves the heroine (or falls in love with her). There are entire posts all over the internet devoted to the Alpha Male.

4. Supernatural ElementsI find this to be the fun part to read and write. It's limited only by my imagination. Super powers, shifters, fairies, ghosts, etc. But it's not a paranormal romance if there isn't some kind of supernatural element to the story.

5. World BuildingParanormal romance is set on earth in current day most typically. Other more exotic settings tend to fall into other subgenres. So the current world is already built. Paranormal romance has to build the supernatural world into it. Is it a secret? Are there societies? What dictates their norms? Is it more about the individual? And so on and so forth?

6. ConflictThe conflict in these stories can come from a few places. You can have a villain - which, because of the paranormal elements - tends to be some kind of super villain. You can have the supernatural elements be the conflict. Remember that the romance is the key - is her ability to see ghosts freaking him out and that's the conflict? Is the world building the conflict? Is this a dangerous world for our heroine/hero to live in?

7. Happily Ever AfterThis is a romance. It has to have the happily ever after. I know there are series of books in this genre where the hero/heroine don't have their happily ever after till the last book. While this works for some, it's not my favorite. I like to have the couple end up together and happy at the end of a single book. Even in a series.

Those are my key elements to paranormal romance. These are pretty high level, and there are many different ways that authors in this genre can take each element. That's what makes it such a fun genre to read! Imagination is the limiting factor.

Award-winning author, Abigail Owen was born in Greeley, Colorado and raised in Austin, Texas. She now resides in Northern California with her husband and two adorable children who are the center of her universe.

Abigail grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. A fourth generation graduate of Texas A&M University, she attempted to find a practical career related to her favorite pastime by obtaining a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing). However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it.

After years of writing only for herself, she began her “official” writing career in 2012 as a self-published author, starting with Blue Violet, the first book of the Svatura series. Since then she’s been writing non-stop and has no plans to quit, having found this escape to be addictive. She is now published by The Wild Rose Press.